


The Adventure of Captain Mal and the Black Carbuncle

by Kryptaria, stephrc79



Category: James Bond (Craig movies), Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-27
Updated: 2014-03-27
Packaged: 2018-01-17 04:51:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,503
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1374508
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kryptaria/pseuds/Kryptaria, https://archiveofourown.org/users/stephrc79/pseuds/stephrc79
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A Bondlock crossover that's not particularly related to <i>The Adventure of the Blue Carbuncle</i>, except for the goose, which is actually a puppy, and the blue carbuncle, which isn't a gem at all.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Adventure of Captain Mal and the Black Carbuncle

The dog was nearly seven kilos, with paws practically the size of Q’s palms. The fur was almost pure black except for a dusting of white on the chest. Despite the efforts of John Watson — former soldier and current handler for Q’s brother, Sherlock Holmes — the puppy kept breaking free to run across the living room. Only the lack of friction from the polished hardwood floor kept the puppy from making it to the antique sofa.

“Tell me again why I have a dog now?” Q asked in exasperation, his eyes darting back and forth as he watched John’s valiant efforts to keep the puppy in check.

“Because every spy agency on the planet wants him, and they’ll kill him,” Sherlock said, exasperated. “Why am I repeating myself? You’re not an idiot.”

“Get him to write that down and sign it,” John said as he tackled the puppy and wrestled it down to the antique Persian carpet. Q winced as sleek black fur blew up in a cloud around them both.

“He knows he’s not an idiot,” Sherlock told John. “I was able to mitigate Mycroft’s damage as he was growing up.”

“And a fat lot of good it’s done me,” Q muttered. “I’ve practically been your errand boy ever since.” He shrunk back into the couch, eyeing the ball of black fur in John’s arms. The situation was only temporary, but Q was still fairly certain James would murder him when he got home. James wasn’t exactly a pet person.

“They’ll kill him if they get him,” Sherlock insisted — a sign of just how worried he actually was. “You live with two assassins. Just tell them they have to protect him with their lives.”

“That’ll go over well,” John muttered as he finally distracted the puppy with its own tail. The puppy started happily gnawing on it, apparently without any neural connection between tail and brain.

Q snickered at the sight, despite his best efforts not to. “I do live with two assassins, that’s true. Two assassins who might try and end _me_ for bringing a class five hurricane with legs into this flat.”

“They can’t be _too_ stupid if you’re still with them,” Sherlock declared generously as he swept towards the door. He swung his coat dramatically off the hook and over his shoulders. “Just keep them here and have them shoot anyone who comes for the dog. And search the dog’s stool for a black micro SD card. Carbuncle brand —”

“I’m sorry, I need to look through his _what_?”

“His stool!” Sherlock insisted, turning up his collar. “The dog’s _eaten_ the SD card. Obviously it hasn’t come out the front end. _John!_ ”

Warily, John got to his feet. The dog was still distracted by gnawing itself. “Sorry about this,” John said sheepishly, giving Q a faint smile. “After the two DGSE agents flooded our flat with tear gas, Mrs Hudson threatened eviction.”

Q tried desperately to shrink back even further into his couch. There was a _reason_ he dealt with computers and not with people. He wasn’t meant to go through... stool.

But for John, he’d do it. Both of his brothers were giant pains in the arse, but John would never bring him something that wasn’t important. Plus, Sherlock had said something about the SD being Carbuncle brand which, with its onboard encryption, was _supposedly_ under an exclusive contract with the CIA...

Q shook his head and looked up, suspiciously eyeing John and Sherlock in turn. “Mind telling me what’s _on_ this SD card? That thing is exclusively CIA-issue, and the last time I checked we still hadn’t been taken over by the Americans. What’s it doing here?”

“It’s something someone thinks is important. I took it from a spy, of course,” Sherlock declared airily as he opened the front door.

“We weren’t followed on the way over,” John assured Q.

“Of course we weren’t,” Sherlock said, all but rolling his eyes.

“One of these days, I’m going to turn you two loose in Epping Forest against James and Alec and see which pair comes out first.” Q smiled wickedly. “It’ll be like my own personal version of the Hunger Games.”

He glanced over at the puppy, and his smile fell as the dog wormed its way out of John’s arms. It made a beeline for Q, only to have its path blocked by the sudden appearance of a coffee table leg. The sound of the puppy’s head hitting the corner was audible throughout the living room, and all three men flinched. The puppy appeared to be fine, though, shaking it off and continuing its singular mission to run and jump up onto Q’s lap.

John took the opportunity to escape. “Stay safe,” he said, going for his jacket. Sherlock was already out in the hall.

“Wait!” Q called out after John. The puppy had shimmied up onto Q’s chest and was actively trying to lick his face off. He turned his head to at least get his mouth and nose out of the line of fire and asked, “What am I supposed to call him?”

John smiled and slipped out into the hallway. “Whatever you like,” he called back, closing the door.

“Great,” Q muttered, glancing down at the puppy. Big brown eyes stared happily back at him as a tail thumped against his stomach. “You don’t even have a name? What am I supposed to yell at you when you eat James’ expensive Italian loafers? And don’t even pretend you won’t. I’ve heard about your kind. I know the kind of mischief you get into.”

The puppy just continued to grin up at him before it rested its head on Q’s chest. It took every last ounce of willpower that Q could muster not to give in to the face that stared back at him. This thing was _definitely_ going to be trouble.

  


~~~

  


“It’s a new Cold War,” Alec said as the lift doors opened.

James sighed, shaking his head, and started digging out his keycard. His hands shook from exhaustion; the coffee was wearing off. “It’s not a new Cold War.”

“Then it’s just a bloody war,” Alec declared. “When was the last time you saw this many spies in one place that wasn’t an all-you-can-eat buffet?”

James couldn’t suppress his laugh. “True. But it’s not a Cold War.”

“What the fucking hell is it, then?”

“Very good question,” James muttered, unlocking the front door. “I never thought I’d see the day when we were seconded to MI5 for —”

He cut off as he opened the door and was promptly attacked, not by yet another spy but by a knee-high ball of fur and chaos.

“Watch it!” came Q’s shout from somewhere in the vicinity of the living room. “Don’t let Mal out!” He came running into view mere seconds after, grabbing what looked like a tangle of black limbs around the middle.

“What the bloody —”

“A puppy!” Alec shoved James out of the way and dropped to his knees, leaning fearlessly into the kicking, flailing storm of huge black feet. “Who’s a good puppy? Look at you! Are you a good puppy?”

“What?” James asked stupidly.

The black thing  — a _puppy_ , apparently — squirmed viciously out of Q’s grip and lunged at Alec. Q fell back with a hard _thunk_ , laughing as the puppy tried to climb Alec like a tree, despite the fact that its legs didn’t seem to want to cooperate.

Q glanced up at James, and his happy expression immediately gave way to wariness. “So... Yes, we have a dog now.”

All too aware of the infestation of spies currently plaguing London, James stepped into the flat and closed the door. “We —”

“What’s his name? What is he?” Alec asked, rolling onto his back so the puppy could better lick his face.

James shook his head, uncomprehending. “We have —”

“A black lab? No, he’s mixed,” Alec went on.

“Black lab, I think,” Q said as he crawled over to scratch the puppy’s head. Then he leaned down to kiss the side of Alec’s head, actively avoiding the puppy’s attempts to lick him, too. “And his name is Mal.”

“Mal?” Alec asked curiously.

“His _name_?” James asked as his brain, tired and stressed and generally overwhelmed, finally caught up. A _name_ implied permanence.

Q flicked a glance up at James before looking back at the puppy, his back practically turned to James. “Captain Malcolm Reynolds. We may have spent the day yesterday having a _Firefly_ marathon while I puppy-sat.” He shrugged slightly. “He didn’t have a name, so I fixed that.”

“Why do we —”

“Captain. Hah,” Alec scoffed. “General, at least. Or Admiral? Are you an admiral?” he asked the puppy, who answered by attempting to maul Alec’s face with its tongue.

“A _puppy_?” James asked.

“He’s only a few months old. John wasn’t very clear on that.” Q straddled Alec’s legs so he could run his fingers along the puppy’s back. Q looked up at James and smiled. “Hello, by the way. I’ve missed you two.”

“John. John Watson, which means this is your _brother’s_ fault,” James said, seizing on the obvious culprit. “London is crawling with bloody foreign agents, and your brother’s foisted a _puppy_ on us?”

“Don’t listen to him,” Alec told the puppy.

“Don’t encourage him!” James countered.

“Be nice to Mal, James. He’s had a hard couple of days, and you’re not helping,” Q scolded.

“ _I’ve_ had a hard couple of days!” James protested. “I was stabbed! Twice!”

“You’re fine. You got stitches,” Alec scoffed, getting to his feet. The puppy was all but glued to him. His shirt, once white, was covered with fine black hairs.

“Why did your brother...” James faltered, gesturing at the puppy that followed Alec, at a dead run, into the living room.

Q watched Alec and the puppy before turning back to James. “Comedy of errors, really. Mycroft convinced Sherlock to take a case involving a rogue CIA agent that turned out to actually be an undercover agent for North Korea. He was trying to buy a new ID and defect to Paris. Sherlock found him, and the SD card — a Carbuncle SD card —”

“Carbuncle?” James interrupted.

“The card,” Q continued, “landed in a plate of goulash that was overturned during the struggle. The puppy — a stray — ate the goulash and the card.”

“You mean —”

Alec burst out laughing. From the other room, he shouted, “Outfoxed by a bloody puppy!”

“Don’t help!” James shot back. He and every other agent in MI6 had been trying to get hold of a Carbuncle SD card for the last four months, since they’d discovered that the CIA was using them.

Q laughed and walked into the living room, leaving James to stare after him. “I secured the SD card yesterday. It’s in my office, and yes, it’s clean.”

James followed Q, suddenly all too aware that his living room was filled with antiques. Very old, very expensive antiques. And a puppy. “But —”

“We’re recruiting him,” Alec declared. “We can shoot 0014. Nobody likes 0014. Mal can take his place.”

When James stopped at the couch, Q took his hand and gave it a small squeeze. “I’m sorry, James. But Mal has nowhere to go at the moment.” He turned and wrapped his arms around James’ waist, leaning in to brush their lips together. “Please don’t be upset.”

James tensed when Q’s hands brushed the stitched wound high up on one side of his back, but he ignored the pain in favour of losing himself in the kiss he desperately needed. Two days of open warfare on the streets of London. “Q...”

“If you say you’re upset, I’m shooting you,” Alec said from where he was sprawled on the couch. His boots were up on one arm; the puppy was on his chest, tail thumping hard against the back cushions. “Mal is adorable. You’re not.”

James opened his mouth to say that Q thought otherwise, but he closed it silently. The puppy _was_... less than irritating. At least it wasn’t some fluffy little bladder on legs.

“You’re _both_ adorable,” Q said, and this time the kiss wasn’t just a brush. He pulled James in and held him close, letting the kiss linger for several long, blissful moments.

“Is that me and Alec or me and the puppy?” James asked softly.

“Oi! He means _me_ and the puppy!” Alec protested.

“I mean all three of you,” Q countered. Then he smiled. “So maybe _both_ is no longer the proper word choice.”

Apparently, the puppy was staying.

James considered protesting, but he knew how it would play out. He would protest, Alec would complain, and Q would threaten them both with bodily harm until the puppy was back.

“Captain Reynolds?” he asked, smiling wryly at Q.

Q grinned at James. “Captain Malcolm Reynolds, Browncoat and leader of the merry band of space pirates aboard the starship _Serenity_.” He glanced over at Alec, where the puppy was currently trying to burrow himself between Alec and the couch. “And apparently now Alec’s faithful devotee.”

James looked over at Alec and the puppy. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d seen Alec smiling so much. “Shall we give them some privacy?” James hinted. He took a step away, pulling Q along with him.

“Only if it means we can have some of our own,” Q agreed with a laugh. Then he eyed James curiously. “You were really stabbed twice?”

“Your insane brother gave you a puppy.”

 _“Us!”_ Alec corrected.

James huffed. “Gave _us_ a puppy. That was more important.”

Q broke away from James and walked up to the back of the couch. He leaned over and gave Alec quick kiss. “You two play nice,” he ordered quietly, ruffling the puppy’s head. Then he headed back to James, taking his hand. He quirked a smile and said, “Now that Alec’s being taken care of, why don’t we see about you?”

“Hey,” Alec said, sitting up as much as the puppy would allow. “Hey! I was _shot_ , you know.”

Q’s head whipped around at that. _“What?”_

“I was —”

“Grazed,” James interrupted, trying to pull Q away. “He’s happy with the dog.”

“I needed stitches, too!” Alec insisted.

“Three. _Three_ ,” James countered. “I had _twelve_.”

“You both are giant children, you know that?” With a huff, Q grabbed James’ hand and started leading him back towards the bedroom. “I watched Mal run _full tilt_ into the glass balcony doors this morning, and you don’t see _him_ begging for sympathy. Learn from the dog, boys.”

Smugly, James said, “Yes, learn from the dog, Alec.”

“ _You_ learn from the bloody dog!” Alec shouted, chasing after them.

Mal, barking with sudden excitement, shot off Alec and nearly tripped James and Q in the doorway. He hit the hallway, skidded into the table, and charged right for the open bedroom door.

“Q...” James said.

“Uh, where’s he been sleeping?” Alec asked, walking up behind James and Q.

The sound of Mal jumping onto the bed was answer enough.

**Author's Note:**

> You can find us both on tumblr at [kryptaria](http://www.kryptaria.tumblr.com/) and [stephrc79](http://www.stephrc79.tumblr.com/). Come say hi!


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